Try If We Cannot Feel Forsaken
by M.Kena
Summary: “Just let him go.” John put the gun down. She shook her head. “Not good enough. Besides, I want to have a little fun with your boy here. Let him have his Mommy back for a while.” AU. Oneshot. PreSeries.


**Warnings:** A few cuss words. Some blood. Violence. The usual I suppose.

**A/N:** Yeah… um, I don't know why I wrote this or where it came from… but whatever. Oh, and questions. Does anyone know when Supernatural's new episodes come back AND are anyone else's alerts for not working?

**Disclaimer:** Well, duh I don't own Supernatural.

* * *

"Waitwaitplease!" She cried, backing away. She bumped into the wall and realized she was at the end of the line.

The man smirked, his gun gleaming dangerously in the moonlight.

"Please." She sobbed, her chest heaving and blood running down the side of her face, down her neck and mingling with the sweat to run down her chest.

She'd long since lost her favorite jacket, and now just wore an old green tank top and jeans she'd torn as she ungracefully had thrown herself from his moving vehicle.

Explains all those cuts and bruises, eh?

Her long blonde hair was matted on one side, due to the blood, and stringy in the front from the sweat. And it'd been raining a few hours before, when he'd caught her, and she was still a little damp from that glorious stroll through back alleys with a gun shoved against the small of her back.

"Time to die." He growled and cocked the gun.

She slid to the ground and covered her head with her arms.

Lotta good that's gunna do against a bullet, honey.

"Please don't kill me." She begged. "I'll do anything."

He steadied the gun. If she'd been looking, she would have noticed how his hand shook and the pain and hesitation in his eyes.

"I don't want anything but your death." He whispered, lying through his teeth. He could think of so many things. Just to have her touch his face the way she used to… he'd give anything for her fingertips on his skin again.

"Anything." She said again, lifting her head to look at him. "Anything."

Her eyes flashed in the light of his son's flashlight and his face hardened, remembering what this thing really was.

"Take off her face." He ordered.

The woman didn't move.

"I said take off her face!"

"Dad…" His son whispered. "It's not her."

"John." The woman whispered, tauntingly, growing bolder, knowing the face she wore was getting to him.

"Shut up!" The younger man growled.

"Dean, don't talk to your mother that way." John whispered, and looked at Dean with wide eyes after he spoke. God, he couldn't think straight anymore. Mary was right there. No. It wasn't really her. Just her face… oh God.

"Shoot her Dad, or I'll do it. She's messing with us. We gotta get out of here." Dean whispered, looking at his father. They made eye contact and their eyes widened at the same time.

Idiots.

Remember how fast shapeshifters move?

It was too late after they realized their mistake and the shapeshifter had her arms around Dean's neck, a small knife to his throat.

She still wore Mary's face.

John had to hand it to the thing, it was smart.

"Well Johnny boy. You've gotten yourself into some deep shit." She talked as she walked backwards, towards the street and out of the alley he'd managed to corner her in. "I'm gunna take your boy here as my ticket out of town." She looked down at Dean and smiled, pressing the blade closer, to which Dean winced. "If you follow me, or try anything funny, I'll cut his head off."

Dean tried not to listen.

But it was her voice. His mother's hair brushing against his face. Her skin against his skin.

"I'll dump him somewhere with his phone. Don't worry. I have no need to kill him." John shook his head.

"Just let him go. You have my word. I won't hurt you." John put the gun down.

"Not good enough. Besides, I want to have a little fun with your boy here." She explained and ran her lips over the outside edge of Dean's ear, almost biting it. "Let him have his Mommy back for a while." She whisper huskily into his ear and Dean's stomach constricted painfully.

"Dean!" Someone yelled.

The shapeshifter turned quickly, cutting into Dean's skin as she did so.

Sam stood behind her, gun raised, ready to fire. His eyes widened when he saw who held his brother.

"Sam don't!" John yelled, but his voice was cut off by the sound of a gunshot.

The shapeshifter who wore Mary's face ducked and dove out of the way, but not before the bullet managed to clip her arm.

She wasn't exactly happy about that, if her scream was any indication.

She and Dean both laid sprawled out on the cement, her blood mixing with the rainwater and pooling into the potholes in the old alley.

"Idiot!" She screamed and grabbed the knife again.

John took a step towards them, but she was sitting up with Dean against her chest in no time.

However, now the knife was pressed against his side, and he could feel the dangerously sharp blade slowly ripping through his shirts. He held his breath and looked to his father.

"Don't take another goddamn step, either of you!" She yelled and Dean flinched as he felt the blade tip against his skin now, right above his hip. "You!" She yelled, looking at Sam. "Stand by your father." She looked down at her arm as Sam hurried to his father's side, where John pushed the sixteen year old behind him. "No..." She whispered, realizing she was losing way too much blood.

"Offer still stands." John whispered in a husky voice. "My gun is down. Just go. I won't chase you."

The NotMary thought it over and then nodded. "Yeah, okay." She panted and then gave Dean a rough kiss on the head. "Sorry, baby." She thrust the knife into his side.

Dean gasped harshly and she shoved him forward and ran off.

John took off after her, grabbing his gun and yelling a, "Sam go to your brother!" over his shoulder.

"Dean." Sam dropped at Dean's side and pulled his brother's hand away from the hilt of the knife. "Hey, leave it. Look at me." Sam whispered, trying not to panic.

Dean had been stabbed before.

Lots of times, actually.

But never by their mother. Or someone who wore their mother's face.

Dean looked at his brother and Sam bit his lip at the tears in Dean's eyes. "It was her voice, Sammy." Dean whispered, his voice shaking. Sam nodded and tried to pull his brother to the building so they could sit against it. But as soon as Sam started to move him, Dean stopped him with a "shitfuckstop!"

"Sorry, sorry." Sam whispered as Dean tried to control his breathing. Sam sat behind his brother and wrapped an arm around Dean's chest and pulled him back so his brother could lean against him. "It wasn't her, Dean." Sam whispered.

"I know… I just… it was her face. Her voice… and she knew it all, Sam." Dean whispered, his breath hitching. Whether it was from pain or emotion, Sam wasn't sure.

"It wasn't Mom." Sam said again. "Mom is gone, Dean."

"I know." Dean whispered and winced. "Aw fuck, man…" He whined. "And I just got out of the hospital last week."

They heard a gunshot and Sam tightened his grip on his brother.

Barely minutes later, John Winchester walked towards them, rain soaking through his big coat and his boots splashing in the puddles.

"Dean." John said in a gruff voice. "You alright?"

"I'll live." Dean answered and Sam rolled his eyes.

"He needs a hospital."

"No hospitals, Sam." Dean whispered and Sam could hear the begging in his voice. Sam sighed and instead of insisting, helped their father carry Dean to the car.

"You kill her?" Dean asked weakly, trying but failing to bite back a weak cry as John lifted him into his arms. They needed to get to the car now, and Dean could barely walk on his own.

"Dad?" Sam asked when he realized John had no intention of answering Dean's question.

John cleared his throat and glance down at Sam and then at Dean who was shivering slightly. "I did what I had to."

* * *

Three years later, John is confronted by a shapeshifter wearing Mary's face.


End file.
